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Somewhere in-between a punk attitude and a culture shock is a rebound from anti-conformism to anti-anti-conformism, then back to the idealism of individuality—and by the end of it, I’m walking streets in black.

“They” see me walking and they come to talk to me, all buddy-buddy, like, “hey, you wear black, let’s be friends,” but I don’t want anything to do with them. I’m not into it like they are. They’ll start talking bad about civilization, and me and civilization actually get along pretty well.

Maybe it’s a one-sided affair—after all, walking streets in black is still supposed to mean something; but it doesn’t have to. That’s what I love about the world today—it keeps its thoughts to itself. It leaves me alone.

“They’d” be better off if they realized this. But then again, I guess they like to be contrary. I understand, though it’s not my style.

When it comes right down to it, I’m not diametrically opposed to “them.” A lot of my favorite bands are “them,” but it doesn’t mean I’ve got anything against those bands. Not enough that I wouldn’t wear their black t-shirts. It matters to me more that I like it than what it means.

When it comes right down to it, there’s a scale to weigh everything on. The positives and the negatives. There’s a little of both, but just a tad more weight on one end.